


Planning Pains

by Actual_Writing_Trashcan



Series: Colossus Hyperfixation Collection [55]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: And angst, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not sorry, Past Child Abuse, also russell is a sweetheart and no one can convince me otherwise, i'm fully expecting everyone to cry, just a lot of anger and crying, mentions of abuse, v emotional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 23:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20299534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actual_Writing_Trashcan/pseuds/Actual_Writing_Trashcan
Summary: You attempt to start planning your upcoming wedding with Piotr --and run into a major emotional wall instead.(Set after 'Questions and Answers' and before 'The Literal Crack Fic.')[All warnings in the tags.]





	Planning Pains

You should be able to do this. You’re smart. You’re capable. You help herd around a bunch of malcontent mutant teenagers and take down various groups of mutant criminals or groups planning to enact crimes against mutants –and the former is arguably more dangerous than either of the latter. You can make pancakes without burning down the kitchen –and have an edible product by the end of it (though the overall “pancake” appearance is largely questionable)!

You can fucking fly, for fuck’s sake. Know how many people can do that? A significantly small number, and they need planes or fancy equipment to do it, the chumps.

(Alright, that last point may be a little moot due to your mutation set, but _still_.)

Point stands: you are a confident, competent, capable adult, who is capable of accomplishing many different things with varying but usually large amounts of success.

So, why is it you can’t plan your own wedding?

You’re staring down at one of the tables in the library; you’d opted to set up in there for the sake of space, so you could spread everything out and get a good look at all of it, but now you’re thinking that was a mistake because the sheer amount of _everything_ only makes it _that_ much clearer that _you don’t know what you’re doing_.

Venues. Catering options. Invitations. Cake. Flowers. Wedding dress. Bridesmaids dresses. More cake. Music. Groom’s suit and groomsmen’s suits. Cake again. Rings, vows, honeymoon reservations, wedding party details, finding a minister, finding a house, or maybe an apartment, legal name changes—

It’s all too much. Even something simple, like picking what flowers you like, is _impossible_ because…

Because you never even _thought_ someone would want to marry you. For nearly your entire life, you were told that you were a monster, whole-heartedly undesirable, and because of that you never even _dreamed_ about what a wedding for you might look like. Not even once.

And, as a result, you’ve got absolutely _nothing_ in mind for what you might even want.

And it’s making you _furious_.

Because you _should’ve_ been able to dream about your wedding –or even if in some alternate timeline, you never wanted one, you shouldn’t have been so beaten down that you couldn’t even fathom someone finding you desirable, let alone worthy of committing to.

You’re shaking in your seat, hands trembling as rage courses through you. The longer you stare at everything in front of you, the more helpless you feel, and the _angrier_ you get.

Fuck your parents. Fuck them, fuck them, _fuck them, fuck them fuck them fuck themfuckthemfuckthem_—

“Hey, Y/N.” Russell grabs your shoulder gently. “Are you okay?”

You realize that you’re basically angry-sobbing in your seat, glaring at all the wedding planning materials while you tremble all over.

Yukio materializes on your other side and hugs you gently. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t!” Russell protests. “She’s crying over a picture of shoes!”

“A lot of women do that.”

“Should we get Piotr?” Ellie asks, ever the voice of reason.

You nod, largely beyond words at this point as you try to wipe off your face and reign yourself in a little now that there are people in the room with you.

Ellie and Yukio head off to track down your fiancé, but Russell stays behind, sitting next to you and gently holding your hand while you –unsuccessfully—try to calm down.

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “It’s gonna be okay. Colossus’ll be here soon.”

You nod, trying to soothe him more than you are yourself at this point, because –_honestly_—you’re just so angry. It’s like a wound you never realized you had is now ripping open, deeper and deeper, tearing through you until you can’t breathe and all you can do is _bleed_ and _rage_—

_How dare they_.

Betrayal. Pure and simple. Betrayed by your parents, betrayed by the town you grew up in, betrayed by the members of the church you were dragged to every Sunday and Wednesday…

Week after week, a community of adults bore witness –to the anti-mutant sermons you were forced to listen to, to the times were the kids in the middle school and high school youth groups would bully you even though you were barely out of first grade yet, to the growing fear with which you reacted to your parents, to the times where you were dragged back to your home by men toting rifles after you’d tried to run away, to the bruises that covered your arms from your father’s abuse, to the bags under your eyes from constantly being afraid and upset, to how you retreated further and further inside yourself as your parents bore down harder and harder on you…

And they did nothing. No one, not once, ever looked at you and decided that you deserved protecting because _you were just a kid and couldn’t control your genetic make-up_.

_How fucking dare they._

You didn’t deserve to hate yourself, you didn’t deserve to feel worthless, you didn’t deserve to believe that you were _so unlovable that you’re completely lost at sea in the face of planning your own fucking wedding_—

And then Piotr’s kneeling next to you and drawing you into his arms. He’s in his uniform and armored up –he must’ve been overseeing training sessions, and now you feel bad for having inadvertently interrupted him.

“_Tische, myshka_.” He gently lifts you into his arms, then says something to Ellie before carrying you out of the library.

You wind your arms around his neck and bury your face in the shoulder piece of his uniform. You’re still shaking, borderline hyperventilating as you try to cope with the sheer level of wrath coursing through you. _How dare they, how fucking dare they; I was a kid!_

And then you’re in the bedroom you share with Piotr.

You’re vaguely aware that the teens have followed you and that they’re setting the wedding stuff on the desks, and then they’re leaving and closing the door behind them—

And then it’s just you and Piotr.

“What’s wrong, _myshka_?” Piotr murmurs. He armors down before sitting on the bed, carefully settling you in his lap so he can nestle you in his arms. “What has you upset?”

What you _want_ to say is that you’re upset and enraged over the mistreatment you suffered as a child, and that it still extends so far into your life that you’re finding yourself unable to help plan your own wedding because you literally have _zero_ ideas on what you want due to being abused for so long.

What comes out, however…

“I hate them,” you seethe as you sit back. “I hate them so _fucking much_. I was just a kid, I didn’t fucking deserve to be their punching bag—”

Fortunately, Piotr knows you well enough –and the tragic story of your upbringing—that he can decipher from your rambling that you’re upset about your family. He frowns, sad and concerned, and tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I am so sorry, _moya dusha_.”

“I didn’t deserve it,” you insist, almost frantically, as tears sting your eyes. “I didn’t deserve it, I didn’t deserve it, I didn’t _fucking deserve it_—”

“_Konecho net._ Never.” He draws you back into his arms, kissing the top of your head and rubbing your back and generally doing whatever he can to soothe you. “You never deserved how they treated you. You never could, and you never will.”

You sob brokenly against your fiancé’s chest. “I can’t even plan my own wedding, Piotr! I don’t even know what I want it to look like!”

And then it all comes pouring out –the panic you’d felt in the library, how it’d morphed into fury as you realized what was causing your utter lack of ideas for your upcoming wedding, how the teens had found you in there, borderline hyperventilating as you’d stared at all the wedding stuff.

Piotr, for his part, just holds you and kisses the top of your head over and over again. “I am so sorry, _moya lyubov’_. Had I known you would have felt this kind of distress, I would have not left you to work on our wedding details alone.”

“But aren’t most brides supposed to plan the wedding?” you ask as you sniff inelegantly.

“I do not think ‘supposed to’ is right word. I think most brides wind up planning weddings because they have more aesthetic preferences,” Piotr explains. “However, I think it might be better if we work together for most of it. If only so you do not have to deal with your pain alone.”

“But you’ve got job stuff to do,” you whine. “And X-Men stuff, and teacher stuff, and this is gonna take a lot of time—”

“And you are my fiancée and love of my life and future wife and we will find way to _make this work_,” he insists as he presses his lips against your forehead. “Your well-being is more important than easy schedule.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I just don’t want you to wind up hating me by all the end of this.”

Piotr just holds you tighter and kisses your temple. “Impossible.”

It’s not going to be easy. Even the thought of trying to work on wedding stuff makes your stomach churn with anxiety and unreleased rage.

Nothing in life comes easy, though. And with Piotr by your side –and your friends and newfound family—you know you’ll get through it just fine.


End file.
